


You Can't Say Grace Over a Dick (It's Blasphemy)

by ChrissiHR



Series: The Many Loves of Darcy Lewis (a 1950s AU) [4]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Tales of Suspense, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Fingering, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Clint Barton, Blasphemy, Blow Jobs, Catholic Bucky Barnes, Catholicism, Crack Treated Seriously, Deaf Clint Barton, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Horny Teenagers, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, M/M, Male Slash, Misunderstandings, Multi, Overstimulation, Polyamory, Prostate Milking, Queer Themes, Sexual Humor, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 14:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12655098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrissiHR/pseuds/ChrissiHR
Summary: Catholicism, blow jobs, and misunderstandings. In that order.





	You Can't Say Grace Over a Dick (It's Blasphemy)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Zephrbabe.
> 
> Set in the year between Beach Party and Hayride.

“Whaddaya think she’s doin’ right now?” Bucky demanded, shoving Clint against the door while he fumbled for his key with one hand and Clint's dick with the other. His uncle went away for the weekend to his hunting cabin out at the rod & gun club, so Bucky and Clint had the run of the whole second floor. Never one to miss an opportunity, Bucky dragged Clint upstairs when he turned up after Bucky’s breakfast of toast and coffee over a seized engine block. Clint barely had a chance to agree with Bucky’s change of plans for their morning or answer his question about Darcy Jean before Bucky shoved him through the door of his tiny apartment, tugged the undershirt over Clint’s head, and had his fly down and dick out, shoving him down on his back on the narrow bed.

And then Bucky took a moment, as was his way.

“Bless me, sweet Lord--" He crossed himself. "--and this beautiful dick I’m about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord. You made me just a little bit queer, Lord, and for that, I’ve never been so grateful as I am right now. Amen,” Bucky murmured under his breath as Clint’s dick bobbed, thick and red with an enticing curve up to his belly. He closed a fist around the base of it, pumping a half dozen hard, punishing strokes until Clint hissed, bucking his hips up and thrusting the tip against Bucky’s parted lips. The wet heat of contact made them groan in tandem, Clint clutching at the rumpled bedcovers and Bucky shifting his hold to clutch at Clint’s hips to keep from gagging on all that good dick.

“Uhhnn… Buck… Soooo good, baby. So hot. Just like that.” Clint ran the fingers of one hand through Bucky’s messy morning hair as Bucky suckled the tip and bobbed a few times to get it good and wet, spreading around the little bit of slick leaking from the slit. Clint kept talking the whole while, just like he always did, spurring Bucky on, encouraging him to touch and suck and ruin him at eight o’clock of a morning.

But Bucky didn’t have time for Clint’s dirty talking habit just then. He took a deep breath, flattened his tongue over his bottom teeth, closed his eyes, and sank down, inch by delicious inch, exhaling through his nose and relaxing muscles that would have otherwise made him gag until his nose bumped Clint’s belly and they moaned together again.

Fuck, but Bucky loved that sound.

He pulled back a few inches and did it again, exhaling through his nose each time he sank down, again and again, until his fella begged him to stop teasing.

“Fuck, so hot, so hot, s’hot.” Clint thrashed, trying to hold still in Bucky’s mouth, but losing the fight as his hips thrust, seeking the little bit of friction that would send him over the edge.

But Bucky had other ideas. He backed off, panting and licking the string of saliva between his lips and Clint’s purpled tip.

“Feel good, baby?” Bucky asked, breath heaving just a little bit harder at the press of his own dick against his zipper.

“Wha’?” Clint blinked, confused for a second before focusing on Bucky’s lips repeating the words silently.

“Yeah, yeah. I mean,” he exhaled on the word and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I’m not there yet, but I could be, if you didn’t wanna stop to play Twenty Questions.”

Bucky smiled, a predatory grin full of dark promise that made Clint shiver with anticipation.

He popped a finger in his mouth, twirled it around until it got good and slippery, watching Clint’s eyes turn first blank in confusion, then half-lidded when Bucky’s hand disappeared and he pressed up against Clint’s rear entrance. His finger popped right inside up to the first knuckle without hardly any trouble.

He wiggled it and twisted, teasing, “Not as tight as I expected. You been doing a little somethin’ on the side you wanna tell me about, doll-baby?”

Shaking his head, Clint groaned, eyes fluttering closed against the sensation. He hissed, “Felt so good that time you did it, I might’a tried it myself at home a time or two.” He leaned back and melted into the pillow, kicking off his dungarees and parting his knees wider in invitation.

“When you’re jackin’ it or some other time?” Bucky asked when Clint opened his eyes again, all conversational-like before he closed his mouth over Clint’s dick again and suckled at the tip like a babe at the tit.

“In the- _huh_ ,” Clint grunted, knees splayed open wide, hands clawed into the covers for purchase. “In the bath, so- _uh_ -metimes. And, and, in bed.”

“Tell me,” Bucky demanded, pulling off and pulling out simultaneously to dribble a little more slick and spit over his second finger before pressing back inside.

Poor Clint whined, high and desperate, his belly tightening and sinking as he tried to relax for Bucky’s merciless fingers.

Then Bucky found that spot, the slippery one he found only once or maybe twice before. He rubbed at it and they were suddenly in a race to the finish as Clint babbled about sticking fingers inside himself and dreaming about Bucky and Darcy Jean, about getting up on his knees in his little twin bed and trying to reach that spot, but he never finished telling the rest, erupting as his young lover’s mouth closed over him, the fingers inside stroking that slippery spot without end, and pulsing jet after jet of sticky spend down Bucky’s hard-working throat.

“One’a these days,” Bucky promised, letting Clint fall out of his mouth with a wet plop. He placed a loving kiss on the tip and nuzzled Clint’s groin, smacking his slightly sticky, salty lips. “One’a these days, I’ll give you three.” He wiggled the fingers inside against that spot and Clint spurted one final, valiant rope of come across his middle.

Bucky twisted and flicked at it with his tongue. “You had pineapple juice with breakfast,” he noted the sweet taste.

But Clint was still pulling himself together. He moaned and flexed, and Bucky brushed that spot one last time while he still had it. Clint damn near peeled the wallpaper with the high sound it dragged out of his throat as another thick ribbon of come splashed his belly.

“No more,” Clint begged, trying to close his legs and turn to the side.

Gently, Bucky withdrew one finger at a time.

“Sorry, baby,” he swore, placing an apologetic kiss on the inside of Clint’s thigh.

“For that or for before?” Clint asked, turning away to search the bedclothes for his shirt so he wouldn’t see Bucky’s answer no matter what was said.

“Whaddaya mean, ‘before’?” Bucky sat back on his heels, relieved when his dick cooperated and stopped rubbing against his denims.

“You ever gonna stop apologizin’ to God for bein’ queer?” Clint growled as he found his shirt and stuffed his feet back into his pants.

“I wasn’t apologizin’. And we been through this--bein’ queer and Catholic ain’t mutually exclusive. I’m only sayin’ Grace. I’ll be Catholic til I die and the condition of--”

“Your everlastin’ soul?” Clint scoffed before Bucky could get a word in edgewise to explain what the prayer meant to him. “God is supposed to’ve made you, so he made you like you are, anyhow, warts an’ all. Or are you worried you’ll get to the Pearly Gates one day and they’ll turn you around because you forgot to say the proper number of Hail Marys before jackin’ your dick, or just because you forgot to say Grace one time you sucked me off? Newsflash, Bucky: You can’t say Grace over a dick; it’s blasphemy. And another thing--why you so het up about getting into heaven? You know damn well I ain’t gonna be there--your little bit queer fella who doesn’t say the Lord’s Prayer every time I diddle Darcy Jean through her panties under a blanket at the beach. Darcy Jean, your girl who is Jewish. You think your Catholic God's lettin’ her in, too?”

He slammed the door open as he stuffed his feet in his basketball shoes and tossed over his shoulder, “So why you wanna get into a place so bad that don’t want us anyway?”

But he never made it to the end of hall. Bucky tackled him from behind, lifting him up off his feet and spinning him around to pin him against the wall opposite.

Before Clint could do more than open his mouth to chew him out, Bucky shook  him ‘til his teeth rattled. “No, you shut up a minute and listen. You got a lotta damn wires crossed, thinking things that ain’t true. You had your say; now I’mma have mine.”

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let his head fall forward until it touched Clint’s sweaty temple.

“I wasn’t apologizin’ for bein’ queer.” Then, realizing Clint couldn’t see his mouth when Bucky knelt between his legs earlier or any of the other times he’d fucked this up, Bucky looked up, turning his fella’s cheek until their eyes met. “When I go down on you, I say ‘Bless me, God, and this beautiful dick I’m about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord. You made me just queer enough to think it’s the best thing since Wonder Bread, Lord, and for that, I’ve never been so grateful for my part in your Grand Plan. Amen.’ ”

Clint huffed in disbelief. “You thank God for giving me a pretty dick and just enough queerness to think it’s great?”

“Yeah, you dummy.” Bucky bounced Clint’s hard head off the plaster, capturing his laughing lips in the kind of kiss that only led them back to bed for the rest of the morning.

Bucky never did sort out the seized up engine that Saturday, but sorting things out with Clint was a hundred times more important.


End file.
